Seeing that the game was up, he laid his cards on the table
with characteristic frankness.
"Gents," he said, "I reckon you've come clean with me. You ain't my meat
and I ain't goin' to clutter up your way. Besides"--even in the dull
moonshine they caught the humorous glint of his eyes--"a friend is a
friend, and I'll say I'm glad that you didn't step into the shady side of
the law while Barry was gettin' away."
No one could know what it cost Pete Glass to be genial at that instant, for
this night he felt that he had just missed the great moment which he had
yearned for since the day when he learned to love the kick of a six-shooter
against the heel of his hand. It was the desire to meet face to face one
whose metal of will and mind was equal to his own, whose nerves were
electric energies perfectly under command, whose muscles were fine spun
steel. He had gone half a lifetime on the trail of fighters and always he
had known that when the crisis came his hand would be the swifter, his eyes
the more steady; the trailing was a delight always, but the actual kill was
a matter of slaughter rather than a game of hazard.
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